


Playing Platonic

by blainedarling



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Schmoop, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blainedarling/pseuds/blainedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry can handle being in love with Zayn. What he can’t handle is allowing himself to believe that Zayn might be in love with him, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Platonic

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my darling Isabelle because after seeing this gifset (http://whatwasthatbob.tumblr.com/post/117888859788), I headcanoned at her and then she did that thing where she gets a bit scary and threatening and insists I write the thing. So I wrote the thing. It’s mostly just angsty and then schmoopy. Meep. There's also every chance that I've timelined this wrong in terms of that interview and stuff that's mentioned in the fic. It's late, just go with it.

_What more could you want?_

 

The words echo around Harry’s head as the interview comes to an end; the bright lights shut off and causing him to blink back white spots from his vision. Zayn is out of the door before the interviewer has so much as snapped her tablet closed, the door clicking shut in his wake.

 

If any of the other boys notice that something is off with their friend and bandmate, they don’t react. Louis is far more preoccupied trying to see how many empty water bottles he can balance on Liam’s head and Niall seems determined to clean out the snacks table before they’re ushered off. To the next bland hotel room, the next interview, the same questions, over and over, until their mouths could bleed with it.

 

Harry leaves without a word, then, hoping to find Zayn in the prep room that’s been set up for them at the end of the hall. He doesn’t need to go that far–he finds Zayn in the hallway, leaning against the wall. His head is tipped back, his eyes half-lidded. Harry can see his fingers twitching against his upper thigh. He looks as though he wants a cigarette but didn’t quite get so far as making it outside.

 

“Crowd’s out in force,” Zayn murmurs, by way of an explanation, tilting his head to one side to look at Harry. “Wasn’t much in the mood to see anyone.”

 

“‘Course.” Harry scratches at the inside of his elbow like a nervous tic. “You shouldn’t have to.”

 

Zayn smirks. “Got told off last time I just propped open the window of a prep room though, didn’t I?”

 

Harry remembers the incident Zayn’s referring to; remembers that it had a lot more to do with the fact that Zayn had been hanging half out of the window, and Paul’s concerns he’d topple right out, than the smoke. “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

 

The laugh Harry gets in response is almost cold. He doesn’t like it. “What was that?” Harry asks, nodding his head back towards the interview room.

 

Zayn is suddenly very interested in the torn skin by his fingernails. “What was what?”

 

It’s hardly one of the most inappropriate things Zayn has said to, or about, Harry in an interview. It’s nothing, really, compared to the way they play around on stage, hands everywhere, mouths daring closer each night. To Zayn’s constant playful smirk when he describes Harry as “sexy”, drawing it out slowly on his tongue with his deep accent, making Harry’s skin flare with goosebumps.

 

It’s nothing, but it’s also _everything._ Because whereas usually Zayn is looking straight at him, watching for his reaction, his eyes boring into Harry until his cheeks pink from it–today wasn’t like that. Today, Zayn wouldn’t quite meet his gaze, his voice cracked and soft where usually it is flirtatious. Seductive, almost. 

 

Harry clears his throat. “What more could you want?” He prompts, punctuating each word slowly.

 

Zayn still doesn’t look up. He shrugs one shoulder and says nothing.

 

Harry blinks. He can’t do this. He can’t do the bubble of hope that tickles at the pit of his stomach when Zayn doesn’t immediately brush him off, or tell him it’s all just fun and games as ever. 

 

Because Harry’s good, he’s _fine._ He’s been perfecting this act for years, now–playing platonic. He gave up on not falling in love with Zayn because that proved too difficult, the idea seeming impossible as soon as one of his wide grins would stretch out over his lips, crinkling his eyes and pushing his tongue behind his front teeth.

 

So Harry settled for not letting it consume him and, more importantly, not letting it show. He settled for fucking strangers never quite as beautiful as Zayn, with words never quite as sharp or witty, hands never quite as firm. He settled for nights of _not enough_ to days of _too much_ , when everything was Zayn. Zayn and him and days off: lounging on hotel rooftops and poolsides, their skin flaming from the sun and their ankles intertwined, hips knocking every time one of them moved.

 

Too many times Harry let himself slip, in the early days. Too many times he let his mind turn over small details and wonder if maybe, just maybe, Zayn felt it too. The way his hand fit into the small of his back when they were walking through a crowd. The way he looked at him through his eyelashes when he teased him on stage with a hand tickling his balls.

 

Waking up next to him, when they’d fallen asleep side by side, innocently. _Platonically._ Waking up first, because Harry always wakes up first, and imagining all the ways he could wake Zayn if things were different. A kiss to his dry lower lip, rather than a prod to his ribs. A murmured sweet nothing into his ear, rather than a persistent bleat of his name. Maybe even a cheeky blowjob, rather than taking a pillow to his head and ending up getting kicked in the shins as Zayn finally came to.

 

He’s done this before too many times and he isn’t going to anymore. Harry can handle being in love with Zayn. What he can’t handle is allowing himself to believe that Zayn might be in love with him, too.

 

“Would you say something, please?” Harry hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s begging. He wipes his hands off on his jeans where his palms feel clammy.

 

Zayn straightens up and looks at Harry. “Just messing around, mate. Chill out, yeah?” He pats Harry’s shoulder on his way past. “Gonna go for that cig, be back up in a sec,” he mutters, and he’s gone.

 

Harry closes his eyes and counts to ten. Ten beats to remind himself that he’s fine, that he can handle this. But for the first time in a long time, it hurts. _Really_ hurts, more than the persistent ache in his gut that he has learned to live with. Sharp, now, piercing right into his stomach and twisting up towards his heart.

 

He goes back to the interview room because he doesn’t know where else to go and he figures the other boys must still be there. Niall is sprawled across the floor clutching his stomach and groaning; Liam’s nearby, on the phone. The team mill around but the room is unusually quiet.

 

“Is he okay?” Harry asks Louis as he sits by the couch, hugging his knees to his chest.

 

Louis knocks his knee against the back of Harry’s skull affectionately, not looking up from his phone. “He’s fine. He ate too many pretzels too fast. Thought for a second we might have to Heimlich them all back up again.” Louis grimaces and then looks up, narrowing his eyes. “Are _you_ okay?”

 

Harry feels his ears turn red. “What do you mean?” He mumbles, picking at a non-existent loose thread on his sleeve.

 

“You’ve got your pining-over-Zayn face on.” Louis says it casually, as though commenting on the weather.

 

“I don’t– I don’t _pine_ over Z–”

 

An M&M hits Harry in the head.

 

“Even I know you pine,” Niall retorts from the floor and then pokes Liam’s ankle to get his input.

 

Liam looks over at them, tucking his hand over the receiver. “What was the question?”

 

“Does Harry pine over Zayn?” Louis pats Harry’s head as he asks the question.

 

Liam sighs. “That’s not even a question at this point.” He goes back to his phone call.

 

“So what did he do this time? Did he start taking his clothes off in front of you? Did he do his devastatingly attractive smolder?” Louis gasps. “Did he find a small child to pick up? That always gets you the worst, I reckon.”

 

“Proper heart-eyes when there’s a kid involved,” Niall comments from the floor.

 

Harry is starting to feel a little victimised. He opens his mouth to protest but Louis cuts in before he can even attempt to defend himself.

 

“Doesn’t really matter what it is, I suppose. Arse over tit for him no matter what he does. Pair of idiots.” Louis’ head hits the arm of the couch with a thunk.

 

“Well, I’m glad my feelings are such a source of entertainment to the rest of you,” Harry whispers, tucking his face into the top of his knees and breathing out through his nose. He snuffles softly. “I’ve _tried_ –you don’t think I’ve tried to make it go away? I know he’s never going to feel the same way but even then, he’s just so, so _Zayn_ , and I can’t–”

 

Harry’s nose is starting to run and big, blubbering tears are dripping down his cheeks. He rubs at his nose with his sleeve and sighs, looking up to three concerned set of eyes staring back at him. Liam’s finished his phone call and even Niall’s pushed himself up into a sitting position.

 

“Haz, mate, don’t make yourself upset, yeah? We were just messing around.” Niall crawls across the carpet to join him, wrapping him into a hug. “We’re not taking the piss or laughing at you, or nothing. Promise.” 

 

Harry feels a sloppy kiss being pressed to the top of his head and then Liam’s at his other side, wrapping him up too.

 

Louis hasn’t moved. “Hold on.” His tone is sharp. “Would you repeat what you just said, please?”

 

Harry frowns and sniffles. 

 

“I don’t think that’s going to help anything,” Liam hisses in Louis’ direction.

 

“ _Liam_ , Harry here is under the impression that Zayn is never going to feel anything for him.” He sounds like he’s trying to make a point but all it does is cause Harry to let out a wail into his arms and droop.

 

“ _Louis_ , if the next thing out of your mouth isn’t something useful, I might smack you.” Liam’s petting Harry’s hair but Harry can see the daggers he’s shooting Louis out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I’m getting Zayn,” Louis announces and trots off out of the room before Harry can stop him.

 

“What’s he doing? I don’t want Zayn to know, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable,” Harry babbles, scrubbing at his eyes furiously to try and dull the puffy redness there. He tries to scramble to his feet, thinking he might be able to make a break for it and hide out in the bathroom at least for a little while, but two pairs of strong hands are holding him fast.

 

“Think Louis’ right, you know,” Niall is murmuring to Liam as his fingers lock around Harry’s wrist. “Time we put a stop to all this.”

 

Liam nods. “I thought it was a _joke_ , I didn’t realise they were both this oblivious about the whole thing.”

 

Harry grunts and tries to snatch his wrists away, frustrated with his friends for talking as though he’s not even _there._

 

And then Zayn’s trudging through the door after Louis, who’s looking far too pleased with himself. 

 

“What’s this about, then?” Zayn tugs at his hair, glancing between the boys. His gaze softens. “You alright, Haz?”

 

Louis jabs Zayn in the ribs. “Go on. It’s time. You’ve waited long enough.”

 

Zayn’s eyes widen a fraction before he schools his expression, sounding bored. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.”

 

“Don’t make me push your heads together myself. This is ridiculous. You think Harry doesn’t fancy you and Harry here is working himself up into a state because he thinks you don’t fancy him. Meanwhile it’s blatantly fucking clear to the rest of us that you _both_ fancy each other and we’ve had just about enough of it so, I swear to every deity under the sun, Malik–if you don’t put your lips on his in the next thirty seconds, I will relive you of your genitals.”

 

Louis lets out a huffed breath when he’s done, his cheeks flaming red in exasperation, hands on his hips.

 

“Do it for the sake of your genitals, at least, bro,” Niall mumbles in alarm as he looks between Louis and Zayn. “I think he’s serious.”

 

Zayn stumbles forward and Harry doesn’t have time to process before lips are finding his own. It’s messy and off-centre at first, until Harry tilts his head to the left a touch and they line up. Harry can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears and his wrists are still being restrained either side by Liam and Niall. Nearby, he can hear Louis cackling gleefully and, altogether, it must be one of the strangest situations he’s ever been in.

 

The chaste kiss ends a short moment later, but it’s enough time for Harry to know he is well and truly _fucked_ if this all turns out to be some horrible practical joke that Louis and Zayn have concocted. His stomach is tying knots around his ribcage so he can barely breathe and he feels dizzy with the taste of Zayn still on his lips.

 

“Did you just do that so Louis wouldn’t rip your dick off?” Harry asks, cringing at how painfully unromantic it is when Zayn is still so close, the tips of their noses practically touching.

 

Zayn smiles and it crinkles up in Harry’s favourite way, the pink of his tongue poking behind his teeth. “Nah, no, I– Did it because I’ve been wanting to for years, I guess.”

 

Louis lets out a whine behind them. “As far as romantic moments go, this is pitiful. I can’t watch any longer.” He ushers Niall and Liam out of the room with him.

 

Harry rolls his wrists to work out the kinks from being held tight so long and then Zayn’s hands are sliding into his. Their palms stick together, fingers lacing around one another’s. “Me too,” Harry breathes out finally. “Years and years and years. Think I bit more than fancy you, if I’m honest.”

 

Zayn hums and presses a kiss to Harry’s upper lip. “What more could I want?” He murmurs against his lips.

 

Harry starts and smacks Zayn around the head, sending him tumbling forward a bit so Harry has to wrap his arms around him to keep him upright. “You did that on purpose. Today, in the interview,” Harry whines.

 

Zayn raises an eyebrow, pulling back a little. “Well, I tried being blatant, didn’t I? Thought the candy thong would do it; Louis thought so too. Kept threatening me after that, saying I wasn’t trying hard enough.”

 

Harry sighs out into a laugh and loops his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, hugging him tight as he steals a kiss, dipping his tongue past his lips. He shudders as he licks into Zayn’s mouth, a full-blown groan falling from his lips as Zayn’s hands cup his hips and pinch into the top of his arse.

 

“Louis was right,” Harry murmurs, tucking the side of his nose against Zayn’s. He’s going cross-eyed trying to look at Zayn like this but he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of him for even a second. “Pair of idiots, we are.”


End file.
